The rigging ran perfectly tethered
to the drapes. Parking one bring thing
against a wall, why is it we can’t
be careful? Or urgency is to dumb
as darkness is to doing wrong.
There’s a last religion. Put down
the dowsing rods, lured southward like
a tree in a wind that taunts it.
A spider dips itself in cranial light, crawls
all day across the finished room.
Impossible, picturing a white wall,
a terrace where rain pools
in a cactus flower, the rest off
to the Hudson. North American
water where you’ve already
written distress, please look.